A banquet of consequences

I should fear a reckoning. Some big shot said, “sooner or later your past catches up with you.” Who said that? Google won’t pinpoint its origin. The closest I got was this:

A banquet of consequences! I like that. It’s like you’re eating all the bad shit you did. They’re sitting you down at a table and force feeding you. It ain’t pleasant.

Or…they’re strapping you to a chair.

The Chair they strapped Ted into. Chair looks like teak wood. Maybe you need a good strong hard type wood like teak for a chair that electrocutes human beings…

Ted after they zapped him.

This guy served Bundy Burgers at Ted’s execution.

Tuesday is Fry Day the sign behind him says.

Along with the burgers, the Dude sold Burn Bundy Burn t-shirts. Could be those t-shirts are a collector’s item today. I would not wear one. Would I? No, no I wouldn’t. Just as I definitely would not wear a maga hat.

Normal god fearing law abiding people were eager to see Ted suffer the consequences of his crimes. I’ll say for once I agree with normal people. Ted’s final wish was to be cremated and his ashes scattered in the mountains. This would seem to be a reasonable request.

Ted Bundy wished to be cremated and to have his ashes scattered in the Cascade Mountains of Washington. At least four of his victims were found near Taylor Mountain, where Bundy is reported to have said he had “happy memories.” The will was signed just before his execution in the electric chair.

97rock.com

His last wish was granted.

So much for his happy memories.

Sometimes retribution allows weird twists.

Could be it always does.

I’m looking at the consequences of driving my company car

I’m not a serial killer compelled by a malign force within me to rape and kill young women. I’m not one of those. I like reading about those kinds of people, however. Just as I enjoy reading about Adolf Hitler. I can’t say exactly why I have a fascination with these monsters. Perhaps it’s just the fact of them being monsters. Often when I got nothing to do, like for instance I’m standing in line at the DMV, I’ll Google the Donald Trump news. Just to get the latest dirt on that particular Monster. You know, see how he’s stirring the shit on this particular day. Today I read how he’s publicly bashing the Judge in his hush money trial. The Jury is out and he’ll be given a verdict soon. He’s crying foul of course. After a minute or two I quit reading because frankly the whole Donald Trump thing no longer fascinates me. It’s like watching a dog pee on a hot rock. After a while it’s no longer griping.

So I stop reading my phone. I’m standing at the end of a long ass line. All these unhappy people waiting, waiting, waiting in line. While I’m waiting, I spy this machine, a machine just standing there, ignored by the crowd. Looks like a ugly ready teller. I ask the dude in front of me. “Hey, what about that machine over there. Nobody’s in line at the machine. Is is broke?”

“What machine?”

“The machine lets you pay by machine!”

“What machine?”

They call it a Kiosk!

A DMV Kiosk, it’s called.

You don’t gotta wait in line. Unless you’re waiting in line at the machine.

But nobody’s waiting in line at the machine.

Maybe they’re ignorant of the machine. They don’t trust the machine? Are they afraid of the machine? I don’t know the answer.

The guy in front of me don’t know shit about the machine.

“I don’t know shit,” he says, like he’s proud of it.

I step out of line, mosey up to the machine.

Machine’s looking at me, I’m looking at it. Maybe it’s thinking I’m a sucker for trying it out. It expects me to follow the instructions. Okay, I will. I input my info. It says okay pay. I Insert my debit card. I wait a new york minute. The machine sez, “this time you win,” and dutifully spits out a brand new registration card and a brand new tag.

I eagerly relate this kiosk info to Joan.

“Oh, I just pay on line and they mail me a new sticker.” she says, like anybody that needs to actually show up at the DMV is a loser and therefore beneath her. Which is kind of true in a way. There’s all kinds of losers in the world. I’m among them. But at this moment I feel like a winner! I got my current dmv sticker. It’s yellow…the color of legal!

Why my current DMV registration sticker is critical

My current sticker is critical cuz I’m driving a company car. A prius. I actually do not own the car. My company went bust and I never returned the car. Why did I keep my company car? Cuz nobody asked it back. The owner of my former company went nuts and became a scraper. He’s holed up in his warehouse. Allegedly insane and depraved. It’s his car but I don’t hear from him. So I keep the car. Two years later I still got the car. I’ve always had the car. It’s just lately I’m not supposed to have the car. Am I? I don’t know. The car runs fine. Gets 50 miles to a gallon. Why should I give back the car? Just cuz the owner went a little nuts and he’s holed up in his warehouse? I don’t think so.

I called Paul Bundy (no relation to Ted) to see if he still has his company car. Paul was the “other” salesman working for Eugenics Windows And Doors, my defunct company.

Rumor has it Paul was actually sleeping in the back seat of his company car. Following the implosion of Eugenics he had no income and was evicted from his apartment. So naturally he moved into his car. I mean, his company car…

I called him the other day. See if he still has his company car. A scion. Not a bad car. Big enough for a small guy like Paul to sleep in. Or me, even. I’d take out the passenger seat and rig it for leg room. I could do it.

I figure I’ll call Paul and see if he still has his company car. Last time I spoke with him was seven months ago. I ring him up and he answers the phone!

“Hey Paul! Long time no hear. How you doing, man?”

“Oh, I’m doing alright.”

“You still got your car?”

“Yes, I still have my car. I haven’t spoken to Ivan and I don’t intend to.”

“I still got my car, too.”

“That’s good. Keep it.”

“Should I call him, see how he’s doing?”

“Fuck no. Keep the car. I’m keeping my car.”

“So you plan to register it for 2025?

“Of course. I’m a little late but I’ll get to it. I haven’t spoken to Ivan and I don’t intend to. He treated us badly. He ran a good company into the ground and we all suffer for it. I’m keeping the car until I get another one.”

He told me that two years ago. He said, “I’m keeping the car until I get another one.” Those very words. That was a long time ago and he’s still got his car. I wonder if he’s sleeping in it.

“I had to replace the water pump and some other things. Cost me 12 hundred dollars. I waited too long and it cost me 12 hundred dollars. By the way, you need to take the logo’s off the car. I broke down on the freeway. My Triple A wouldn’t tow me. Cuz of the logos. They said it’s a commercial vehicle. I had to pay to get towed. Anyway, I took off the lettering. It peels right off. Use a razor blade…”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, Yeah…anyway, I’m keeping the car until I get another one. Then I’m gonna retire to Palm Springs. Get the hell out of this fucking Bay Area…”

Palm Springs Palm Trees

I say so long to Paul. Last time I spoke with him was a long time ago. Next time I speak to him could be never. He plans to retire to Palm Springs where you can just sort of go there and you’re good. Cuz you’re living in Palm Springs. Anyway, he’ll have a new car by then. Or maybe not.

So I take Paul Bundy’s advice

I find a shady spot and sit on my portable stool and take a nice brand new razor tool and remove all the logos and lettering from the Prius. Now it looks like every other white prius.

Then I attach the brand new 2025 yellow sticker to the rear license plate.

I’m legal, sort of…

This means I can park on the street and not worry about getting ticketed for expired registration. No cop’s gonna pull over a old dude driving a plain white prius. Shit…

I’m good to go!

I’m not going to Palm Springs. I’m staying put right here in good old Sausalito. I’m keeping the car. The car is mine. Until it’s not.

It’s like Death.

You’re alive, until you’re not!

Kind of reminds me of a blues song I grooved on back in the wild days of my youth…